


We trespass.

by Munnin



Series: Red Mist Stories [1]
Category: Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-17 08:04:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13654878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munnin/pseuds/Munnin
Summary: Red Mist squad face a battle they're not sure they're coming back from. But then, what can ever be sure in war?Set before the events of The Hugin Chronicles.





	1. The Battle of the Temple Moon.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on characters created by Joe Hogan for the [ The Siren of Dathomir](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3z0kyf53Ds) and [ Panic Over Muunilinst](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I3-_EnhMEDE). Characters stolen, run away with, and abused with his permission.

From the moment they entered atmo, they knew this was no ordinary battle. It was hardly likely to be. Not with Red Mist being called in especially. 

But it was bad. Real bad.

There were clankers to every side of them, firing on the ship as pilot zigged and zagged to get them low enough to jump. Shot rocked against the haul and Hugin felt his stomach drop as the ship lost altitude. 

It wasn’t Skate or Jat at the stick but a pilot they didn’t know. And that made him feel even less safe. This was an _all boots on the ground_ mission. Which meant Skate and Jat would be at his side. Pounding the dirt, rather than circling above them like protecting angels. It made the top of Hugin’s head itch, even under his bucket. Like his scalp was exposed without the outstretched wings of their pilot’s aerial protection. 

Skate looked wrong in standard armour rather than the rounded pilot’s helmet. He clearly felt wrong too. Half hidden by the duroplast plates, Hugin could see the tension in the pilot’s frame. The twitch and jerk of every off-kilter movement of the ship echoed in Skate’s muscles. Not being at the stick in a situation like this was physically hurting him. 

Fordo could see it too. Or he could feel it. He stepped to Skate, gripping the pilot’s near-pristine chest-plate and straightening it. Armour that had not see ground combat enough to be worn or dented like the rest of them. 

Fordo looked into Skate’s visor, holding the trooper by the adjusted straps and Skate nodded.

That was how they were. Who they were. Red Mist didn’t need words. They understood each other. And the mission. 

The order to jump shock Hugin out of his reverie and he turned on his toes to face the opening door. They were still high up, higher than a rocketless jump like this was usually done.

But this was not a usual jump. This was not a usual fight. 

He threaded his line and waited his turn. There was a rhythm to their steps. Something like the beat of a drum. Or the beat of a heart. 

One heart. One squad. 

Ridley, Wrathor, Linc. The stomp of their boots as they jumped in sync with Hugin’s breathing. Or was he breathing in sync with them? Ether way, he moved on instinct, drawn off the edge by that rhythm.

And stepped into the void.

For a moment there was nothing but the rush of wind and the feeling of falling as the line at his belt controlled his decent. Then the sudden tightness in his chest as he suddenly gulped for air. Without the beat of Crispy’s feet, the next link in the chain, he’d forgotten to take his next breath. 

And then something went BOOM. Too near, too loud. 

The line he slid down went slack as the ship exploded above them. 

Freefall.

How many beats had passed? Had everyone jumped before the ship blew?

He tilted his chin minutely to check his head’s up display, toggling for squad life signs. 

All green. All active.

And then there was Fordo’s voice. Inside his helmet. Reassuringly close. “Prepare to cut lines and roll.”

The ship was burning, falling. If they didn’t cut away now, it would take them down with it. 

The blade was in his hand without Hugin remember he’d reached for it. One hand on the slack line to keep it taut enough to cut. It might not still be attached to anything. The ship or fragments of it. But trailing a broken line could be just as deadly.

“Cut!”

The ground was near now, near enough to see details. There wasn’t time to put the blade away so he dumped it. Throwing it one way as he shoved the broken line the other. And got ready to roll.

They’d been learning to do this since they were young. Since the first time they were big enough to wear training suits. How to tuck your head. How the bend your knees. How to tumble end over end till you shed the speed and momentum of your fall. 

And just hope nothing got in your way as you did.

Hugin’s world became noise and confusion, and he closed his eyes, blocking out the shuddering mess of his HUD. But he was down and laying flat on his back. He hurt, but not badly. Nothing broken. He took a deep breath and tasted dust, coming up coughing. His neck seal had slipped but it had done its job, his spine was sound.

Someone else had not been so lucky and he bounced to his feet at the sound of a brother’s cry. Jat’s leg sat wrong, the angle distorted by a rock on his path. 

“Perimeter.” Fordo’s voice was hoarse as the order was shouted. Those who could rushed to grab dropped weapons and return the fire already focused on them. 

Fordo and Fernie dragged Jat to cover as Crispy laid down cover fire to Hugin’s left, Skate to his right. 

“Find ground.” Fordo ordered. Wrathor and Rezz closed the gaps in their ranks as Ridley and Gleeb set out at a run to get the lay of the land. 

“Hard contact.” Hugin’s voice sounded almost foreign to himself, his throat rasping with the red dust. He lifted his gun and stepped back and sideways, making room as Wrathor took his place in the semi-circle. 

The boom of Wrather’s cannon rocked the droid tank coming up the slope towards them. Almost masking the sound of Jat’s scream as Fernie yanked his dislocated hip and knee back into place. With stims and pain blockers, Jat would be back on his feet. But the cost at the other end would be high. 

If he lived to pay it.

If any of them lived. Because right now, exposed on this rocky hillside, their odds weren’t good. 

And then Ridley’s voice, answering Hugin’s thoughts. “Urban cover, two clicks, two point three point two.”

“Double time.” Fordo ordered, his shoulder under Jat’s as he and Fernie pulled him to his feet. 

They rotated vanguard and rear-guard, keeping their wounded man in the centre as they ran. 

True to the Recon’s words, a settlement spread over the top of the next rise. Abandoned and half ruined. But the tall building at its centre, a temple perhaps, would give them the view they needed to plan their next move.

They weren’t halfway to the settlement’s edge before they started passing bodies. Fallen troopers. Shinies by their armour. The smell of death got inside Hugin’s helmet and he tried not to gag. His neck seal was still loose. 

“Data.” Crispy called and Hugin nodded, shouldering his gun, searching the ground. From his position at the front of the pack, he was able to drop to one knee, strip the wrist comm from a fallen captain, and be back on his feet before Rezz, who was in the rear, could pass him. Even so, the heavy pulled him up, getting him moving. It was easier to tuck the comm in his belt box and swing his gun back to hand with someone else setting the pace for him. 

The going was harder once they were in the settlement proper. They had shaken off the droids and the tanks in the valley but the town was crawling with them. Tall stone and wood structures slowed their pace and forced them to narrow down and spread out. Labyrinthine streets blocked their sight-lines, and more than once they were forced to double back to avoid packs of patrolling droids. 

They met the recons in the bowels of a sturdy building at the base of the temple. A grain store, perhaps. 

“Good news and bad news.” Ridley reported as Fernie treated a blaster burn of the recon’s thigh. “We found the droid control centre. They had the same idea as us. It’s inside the temple. If we take it out we can shut down the all the clunkers in this area.”

“Bad news?” Fordo asked, checking on Jat who was breathing hard. 

Gleeb took up the explanation. “The temple, hell, the whole damn town is built on a catacomb. An artificially constructed cave system. And it’s unstable. A blast in the wrong place and we’ll bring the whole hill down on ourselves.”

Ridley swallowed and shrugged. “We don’t know how far down or out the catacomb goes. It could just be the hill. It could be clicks in any direction. There’s no way to know without orbital scans.” 

Fordo nodded. “We fight our way in and deactivate the control centre on the level. Or we blow it and risk blow ourselves as well. Can we remote detonate?”

“Negative, sir. The rock too rich in iron oxide. We can’t get far enough away and still trigger a bomb.”

“Air support?” Crispy asked.

“Negative.” Skate answered softly, distantly, scanning the skies. “We have no friendlies left up there.” 

Hugin signed. “And if we signal for back-up so close to the control centre, we’ll give away our location.” 

“Then we fight our way in.” Fordo nodded, “If we don’t take back this moon, the Republic losses this system. And the hyperspace route it controls. And every one of those troopers we saw will have died in vain. Are we going to let that happen?”

“Sir, no sir!” The squad answered as one voice.

“Good. What do we know?”

Hugin handed over the fallen trooper’s comm and settled back to listen as the recons and command analysed the data they had, combining it with their own.

When Rezz touched his shoulder to give him the watch, Hugin accepted a half pouch of hydro from him. The climb to the roof wasn’t too arduous and the cool afternoon breeze helped to clear the smell of death and sweat from inside his bucket. 

It must have been a beautiful place once. The sandy blonde stone of the building contrasted the hot red of the dirt and rock in the valley below. Had it been a river once? Had there been plants? The settlement was too big, too well set up for this desolation. How long had it been since sentients had walked these streets?

Rezz’s hydro tasted sweetly sour with whatever additive he used to flavour it. Citric crystals maybe. It was a strange contrast to Linc’s salty nutrient additives, or the bitter caf concentrate Hugin favoured. Refreshing but odd. And yet very much Rezz.

He sat out his watch, keeping an eye on the clanker patrols that passed and repassed several streets away, never deviating from their pattern. The squad were undetected. So far.

Crispy came up to join him, early for his watch and carrying protein bars. The sugary ones Linc always carried. They sat in silence, taking turns to take off their buckets to take bites of the last food they may get in a while. 

“Here.” Crispy touched the back of his neck, reaching under his backplate to fix his neck seal. “You’re full of dust.”

“You can talk.” Hugin laughed, brushing red dust off Crispy’s shoulder strap. 

“Hey, at least we blend in this way.” Crispy snorted, stowing the wrapper and stealing a mouthful of hydro. “And Skate’s armour doesn’t look so new anymore. No-one will mistake him for a shiny.” 

They both looked up and Hugin knew Crispy was thinking the same as him. Missing their eyes in the sky. 

“So, we’ll have to blow it ourselves.” Hugin heard himself say. “If we can’t clear it?” 

Crispy didn’t answer but Hugin could hear him take a steadying breath. 

“There’s another option.” Hugin went on, filling the silence with the words that had been echoing around his head all watch. “I take the bomb. Trigger it myself. Just me.”

Crispy snorted and shook his head.

Hugin felt his blood rise. “Why not? What’s one man against the lives of the whole squad? Or don’t you think I can do it?” His voice rose too, high and tight.

“I know you could. Just like I know I could.” Crispy sighed, resting a hand on Hugin’s. “I suggested the same thing to the captain. I take the bomb and go. He shot me down. We clear on the level. Together.” 

The unspoken words hung in the air. _And if we can’t, we go down together._

Before Hugin could answer, Fordo’s voice sounded in their ears. “Red Mist. Fall in.”

The plan was simple. Because there wasn’t room for complicated. They would go in in four teams. Two to distract and lead the bulk of the droids away, and one to take down the control centre. And one for plan B. 

“Crispy, Hugin.” Fordo addressed them. “You’re on point with me. We disable the control centre. At all costs. If we fail, we signal Wrathor and Rezz. And everyone get as far out as you can.” The implication was left in the air. If they failed, the heavies would pull the roof down. And there were no guarantees of a minimum safe distance. 

Fordo took off his bucket, the squad following suit. He looked each of them in the eye. And held their gaze. This was not goodbye. Red Mist didn’t do goodbye. They saw each other. Acknowledged each other. Remembered each other. 

Fordo nodded and put his bucket back on, his voice resolved and steady. “Red Mist, move out.”

Hugin flanked Fordo, gun up and ready as they threaded between the droid patrols, keeping the little green lights up on his HUD. His brothers were with him, even as they went their own ways. 

It was never going to be easy. They knew that. But even with the diversionary teams, the way into the temple was hard going. Standard B1 clankers might have lined the streets outside but through the doors they found themselves facing down super battle droids. 

Just the three of them. No Jedi. No clever tricks or lightsabres. Just three troopers. 

Three elite troopers. 

Red Mist.

And they fought. Because that was what they did. Who they were.

Minutes, hours, a lifetime. Hugin couldn’t tell any more. There was only the next threat. And the next. The narrowing antechambers of the temple which lead to a large central space. As if the building itself was contracting around them, forcing them forward into a new light. 

Hugin saw the read-out in the corner of his HUD start to flash warning. He tapped Crispy’s shoulder with his gauntleted wrist, dropping to one knee as his friend and brother covered him. It was easier and faster to take the powerpack from Crispy’s belt, returning the favour as they swapped spots in a graceful twist. 

“Ahead.” Fordo called, seeing the door to the final chamber open as more droids poured towards them. 

They had to get past. Had to get through. 

Or at least one of them did.

There was no discussion, no debate. There didn’t need to be. It was their job to cover the captain. To get Fordo through that door and give him enough time to do what had to be done. 

So, they fought. And pushed. Every step closer to the door a step closer to their mission’s end. Or their own.

A hand on his shoulder strap guided Hugin backwards and he trusted his weight utterly to Crispy. Back to back they turned, clearing the path for Fordo with everything they had. 

The captain took the opening they made and ran at it, dropping to his knees to slide under the bulk of an approaching droid and fire upward to end it.

“Hold this line.” Fordo ordered, vanishing into the odd half-light of the chamber. 

“Hold this line, huh.” Crispy joked, bracing against a fallen droid and shoving it back to block the doorway with the scrap of the one Fordo just ended. “Easier said than done.”

“When is anything easier to do than say?” Hugin called back, his voice laughing as he leapt over the metal carcass for cover. He felt a weird lightness, like he could breathe again for the first time since they hit dirt. Not relief exactly. A kind of endorphin high on the other side of- of this. 

There was a shout from behind them and Hugin turned to see Fordo surrounded by Commando droids. 

Hugin yelled an obscenity and fired, back braced against Crispy as the lieutenant covered the oncoming super battle droids. “B team, C team. We’re pinned down!”

Ridley’s voice answered, breathless and harsh. “We can’t reach you, A team. We’re pinned down here too. Too many droids and we’re out of poppers. Can’t risk using anything bigger.”

“C team here.” Gleeb called. “We’ll try but- things are ugly down here.”

Wrathor’s voice cut across them, distant and oddly calm. “Plan B. In place and ready.” 

Their last line of defence. Their final solution. And Wrathor had his finger on the button.

In that moment, Hugin realise that the pressure on the heavy was so much worse. If they failed, Wrathor would have to press the button. And kill them all.

Hugin heard Crispy sigh. 

“Hold, Plan B.” Crispy called softy. “We’re not out for the count yet.” He closed the link and bumped against Hugin, shoulder to shoulder and facing away from each other. “So, no pressure, huh.”

“Oh, no pressure at all.” Hugin bumps back, trying to sound light. But it’s not working. The moment had passed and he could feel his stomach bottom out, the same as it did on the drop ship. He closed his eyes and remembered how to breathe. 

The moment’s distraction cost him dearly and a blaster shot clipped his arm, spinning him around.

Crispy caught him and shoved him down behind the dead droid’s chest. “Hugh!”

Hugin groaned and took his blaster in his left hand, his right arm hanging useless and heavy. “Good thing they trained us to be ambidextrous right?”

“Ambisinister, you mean.” Crispy barked a laugh of relief. “The way you’re shooting, you’re useless with both hands.” 

“Oh, you’re funny!” Hugin muttered, deadpan. “Captain, down!” He managed two shots over Fordo’s shoulder, buying the captain the sparse seconds needed to plant the EMP grenade on the main console. 

“Now!” Fordo shouted and launched himself towards them.

Crispy grabbed Hugin and threw him over the droid body, covering him as the mega-popper went off. 

Everything was bright and loud and then dark as the blast shut down their helmet displays. Hugin grabbed at bucket, pushing it aside as he raised his gun. 

But the room was silent, the droid around them shutting down. Hugin let his head fall back against Crispy’s shoulder. He didn’t mean to laugh but it bubbled out of him. A laugh that was infectious and pretty soon Crispy had the giggles too.

“That’s all nice and well for you two.” Fordo picked himself up and dusted himself off. He pulled out a shielded comms device. “Plan B, stand down. Repeat, stand down.”

Wrathor sounded relieved beyond measure. “Message received, Captain. Plan B standing down. You have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice.”

“As glad as I am.” Fordo admitted. “Stand down and regroup on my signal.” He came over to slump down beside them, setting his own helmet aside. “Report.”

“Hugin’s an awful shot.” Crispy joked, undoing Hugin’s vambrace and checking the blaster burn here. “So, nothing new there.” 

“And Crispy still thinks he’s funny.” Hugin replied, trying not to wince as Crispy covered the wound with a bacta patch and shot him with an analgesic. 

“Nothing shuts you two up, does it?” Frodo muttered, running his hand through his short hair. He looked up at a sound but lowered himself back down as Ridley, Linc, and Jat joined them.

It wasn’t long before the rest of Red Mist joined them in the temple, many sporting injuries or damage. The stims that had kept Jat on his feet were starting to wear off and the co-pilot looked pale and shaky. Skate took him by the arm and gently lowered him into a sitting position. 

Fordo lifted a hand to call for silence. “Linc-”

Linc already had his comms equipment set up, touching his ear. “Contact with the Republic fleet. They’re sending a ship to collect us but… it’s going to take a while. Looks like they won’t reach us till tomorrow.”

“Hold and check your gear, men.” Fordo ordered. “We have time. Report any injuries to Fernie. And make yourselves comfortable. It’s going to be a long night. But if we’re lucky, a quiet one.” 

Fernie and Linc worked their way around the team, checking each of them in turn. Jat’s condition was worsening, shock setting in as the damaged ligaments in his leg starting to give out under the pressure. “This will help with the pain.” Fernie pressed an injector to the co-pilot’s neck. “But you’ll need tank time when we get back.

“I’ll monitor him.” Skate said softly, cradling Jat’s head against his knee. 

With his arm wrapped and numbed, there was nothing keeping Hugin from taking a watch. But if he was being honest, he would rather have stayed inside in the warm circle of light their lanterns made. The light outside was slow to fade but with it went the little world’s warmth. The twilight turning the settlement into long cold shadows. Without his bucket, Hugin’s breath misted in front of his face. 

After a while Wrathor came out to join him, carrying two mugs of hot protein stew. 

“You’re early.” Hugin nodded, making room for him on the perch. 

Wrathor shrugged, handing over one of the mugs. “Needed some air. Still coming down.” He held out a hand that shook just a little. It had been a slow lesson but Wrathor was learning not to be ashamed of the shakes he got after combat. 

“Want some privacy?” Hugin offered, taking a sip of the rich stew. Ridley’s recipe. Funny how each of them had their own flavours. 

“Nay.” Wrathor shrugged. “Stay. If you want to.”

Hugin nodded and sat, content to sit out his watch with the warm bulk of Wrathor at his side. The heavy always ran a little hotter than the rest of them and his closeness was a welcome break from the cold.

As Hugin’s watch finished and he rose to go back inside, Wrathor touched his arm lightly, breaking the silence for the first time in nearly an hour. “Thank you. For- doing what you did. So I didn’t have to-”

Hugin nodded and closed his hand over Wrathor’s. “I think we’re both glad it didn’t come to that.” He stood up and stretched. “Quiet watch, brother.”

“Safe rest.” Wrathor answered in turn, passing his empty mug to Hugin and settling his blaster across his lap.

The troopers inside looked strange as Hugin entered. The light from the system’s distant star reflected off three other moons, each casting their own shadows in alternating orbits. The high, ornate windows of the temple seemed designed specifically for this, catching the light of each moon through coloured and patterned glass. 

Each trooper in the dimmed lamp light cast four shadows. Each a different aspect, and different shape. It was eerie and yet… fitting.

Hugin moved towards them slowly, studying the shapes they projected.

The recons were asleep, sitting back to back as they often did. Linc busied himself checking and rechecking their supplies as Rezz cleaned and serviced not just his, but Skate and Jat’s blasters too. Crispy and Fordo sat in quiet conference, faces lit from below by a datapad. 

Skate was sprawled out on his back with Jat’s head resting on his stomach. Hugin was surprised to see the often distant pilot’s arm curled protectively across Jat’s chest. 

He was more surprised to see Jat’s eyes open and staring up at the riot of colour and light playing across the room. 

“We trespass.” Jat whispered in a voice both awed and sad. “On holy ground and temple stone. In the house mortal hands raised up, that the immortal hands may touch. We trespass.”

“Jat?” Fernie asked with an edge of worry as he moved towards the injured trooper. “Are you aright”

“We trespass.” Jat ignored the medic’s fussing, sounding dreamy as he let his eyes slip closed. “On hallowed ground were vows were said, and heartfelt sorrows shared and shed. We trespass. In the house of gods fallen. The mouthed prayers that kept them aloft now silent as the tomb.”

“It’s a Jedi poem.” Gleeb explained, to the astonishment of his squamates. 

Rezz shifted his weight and grunted. “And how do _you_ know _that_?” 

Gleeb raised an arch eyebrow. “Believe it or not, Rezz. Some of us _read_.”

Ignoring their squabbling, Jat went on. 

“We trespass in the galleries were once families lit stars,  
Tiny lights to shine at night, and remember those they loved. 

We trespass.

And all light we bring is death.  
Blaster shot and sabre strike. All light we bring is death. 

For who will light a star for me.  
Cold crystal, hot blood, my legacy.

I have taken, and not given back.

No child to seed this galaxy.  
No fond love to remember me.

For I have trespassed.  
And cannot make amends.”

The last line was spoken so softly even Skate strained to hear it. 

Fordo came over to join them as Fernie ran the scanner over Jat, grown still and quiet. “The poet was Jedi Master Calliope? He was a general at the Battle of Narcissus Pool.”

When Jat didn't answer, the medic repeated the question as he gripped Jat's chin, forcing him to open his eyes. "Jat. General Calliope?"

“He hated that.” Jat sighed absently, seeming only half aware of Skate and Fernie moving him into a more supported position. “Every time we called him _general_ , he flinched. We might as well have hit him.”

Crispy moved closer, leaning against Hugin’s shoulder, watching Fernie’s concerned expression “You served at Narcissus Pool, didn’t you Jat? I seem to recall you got a commendation for that battle.”

Jat nodded, his skin grey and mottled in the light of the many moons. “I carried his body to the evac point. So he could be taken back to the temple for burial. Or whatever the Jedi do. He deserved to have a star lit for him. Someone gentle like him should never have been sent to war.”

Jat closed his eyes again as Fernie pressed the injector to his neck, face turned away.

As the medic shook his head in warning concern, Linc got back on the comms to see if command could hurry up their evac. 

They watched their co-pilot through the night as his breathing became more and more shallow. As help arrived at dawn and they rushed Jat onto the ship, medical droids flanking him, Hugin couldn’t get those words out of his head. 

_For I have trespassed. And cannot make amends._

He looked back for one last glimpse of the ruined temple. The wreckage of the blasted droids. The scattered glints of broken glass. The stains of their own blood on the stones. 

Had the gods of this place seen them trespass here? And could they ever make amends?


	2. To the library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Jat's sake, Crispy and Hugin seek out more information about the Jedi poet Calliope.

Hugin rocked on his heels in the doorway, feeling naked without his bucket and blaster. “Are you sure about this?”

Crispy stepped up next to him, wiping his hands on the soft cloth of his pants. Where his thigh armour should be. “Of course I’m not sure! This was your dumb ass idea. Not mine. I’m just here to make sure you don’t mess it up.” He took a breath, not sure what to do with his hands. “General Kenobi did think it was a good idea, though.”

“General Kenobi thought General Skywalker was a good idea too.” Hugin pointed out. “And look how that turned out. You’ve heard Rex’s stories.” He rocked on his heels again. “We should go in.”

Crispy raised an eyebrow. “Waiting for you. Your idea, you get to lead.”

Hugin screwed up his courage and stepped forward. 

Into the library. 

“And what do you think you’re doing here?”

They froze at the voice, helpless as the matronly librarian swept towards them. She might have been a hand shorter than either of them but she managed to tower over them out of sheer force of will. “I wasn’t aware clones were permitted in the temple, let along the archives.”

With a false start, Hugin cleared his throat. “Our apologies, sir-”

She tutted. “The correct from of address is ma’am.”

“Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am.” The two clones mumbled together. 

“Well, spit it out. What do you want?”

Hugin tried again. “General Kenobi suggested we speak with you, sir- ma’am. We’re looking for… for some Jedi poetry.”

She huffed imperiously. “And why would a clone want such a thing?”

Crispy rallied. “For one of our squadmates, ma’am. One of our brothers. He was badly injured and will be in the bacta tank for some time. We thought maybe we could… maybe read him some?” He gestured helplessly. “Though it might help.”

Madame Jocasta’s expression did not soften in the slightest. “And why, pray tell, would the high art of Jedi poetry help a clone?”

Hugin stiffened at that, tired of being spoken down to. Training and conditioning to obey the Jedi was one thing but this- “Ma’am, our friend was badly injured in battle. And when we were waiting to be extracted, he started reciting a Jedi poem. It helped him get through then. We’re hoping it’ll help him now. Besides, he knew the poet. Served with him.”

That seemed to stump her. “A poet who served in the war. Do you know the Jedi’s name?”

This at least seemed like progress. “Calliope, ma’am. Jedi Master Calliope.” Crispy answered hopefully. 

At that, her face did soften. And sadden. “Not master. Calliope was a lore keeper, like myself. We do not hold the same ranks as those who fight.”

“Then why did he?” Hugin asked, a touch too boldly. Backing up almost as soon as he said it. “Fight, I mean. If he wasn’t-”

Madame Jocasta lowered herself into a chair, suddenly looking very small and tired. “Lore Keeper Calliope was- temperamental. He ran both hot and cold, often in cycles. He would go through periods of wanting to experience everything life could offer. And then withdraw to the temple for many months and do little but write.” She dropped her eyes to her hands. “He wanted to know what it was like, to fight along side your kind. He was convinced that unless he did, he could never write a true account of the war.” 

When she lifted her head again, her grey eyes blazed. “The clones sent with him were meant to protect him.”

Crispy stepped back, ready to have something to say but Hugin stepped forward, voice soft. “Ma’am, our brother Jat was the one who brought Lore Keeper Calliope’s body back to Coruscant.”

She huffed and got up, fussing with a data terminal. “He should be commended for that. Without the return of Lore Keeper Calliope’s body, we would have lost his final works. And some would say his most brilliant. If rather haunting.”

“We trespass.” Hugin echoed, remembering the dancing shadows and brilliant colours of the temple.

Jocasta’s look was sharp. “How do you know that?” She demanded. “That poem was never released outside these walls.”

Crispy bowed his head respectfully. “Jat. It was the poem he recited while we were waiting for evac. He was… quite heavily drugged at the time. I’m sure he meant no disrespect or harm.” For all they knew, there were Jedi secrets in those words.

She waved them away. “The council ruled that Calliope’s final works were not to be released till after the war. Some are… highly critical. Of both the war and the Jedi Council.” She toyed with a data chip, rolling it between long fingers. 

Seeming to come to a decision, she thrust it at them. “Take it. For the injured clone.” She folded her hands tightly as if resisting the urge to snatch it back. “He did a kind thing. Bringing Calliope back.” Taking a step back, she flicked her hands at them. “Now, off you go. Out. I have things to do and you have no further reason to be here.”

Taking the hint, Hugin pocketed the datachip and turned on his heels. And they got out of there as fast as they could without running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on characters created by Joe Hogan for the [ The Siren of Dathomir](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3z0kyf53Ds) and [ Panic Over Muunilinst](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I3-_EnhMEDE). Characters stolen, run away with, and abused with his permission.


End file.
